


Petrichor

by Shadow_Logic



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Comedy, Fluff and Angst, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Slow Burn, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 16:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16916526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Logic/pseuds/Shadow_Logic
Summary: On the night of the play at Henley Hall, after Puck turned back into Neil Perry, Todd Anderson felt an odd sense of foreboding as the car rolled away...and made a choice.





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirani/gifts).



> _"Petrichor (/ˈpɛtrɪkɔːr/) is the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil. The word is constructed from Greek petra (πέτρα), meaning "stone", and īchōr (ἰχώρ), the fluid that flows in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology."_
> 
> Heartfelt thanks to [Karios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karios), who bravely betaed. Your cheerleading, my new friend, pushed me past the finish line.

 

As the Perrys’ car rolled away laboriously through the snow, Todd felt a strange sense of foreboding. It came without warning, like the moment the lights changed in the theater for the play: a blink of an eye was all the warning he got before the crisp winter cold became oppressive, catching in his throat, and every last shadow seemed to grow darker, longer.

His first impulse was to draw closer to the small, concerned circle formed by Mr. Keating, Nuwanda, Knox and Meeks, standing a way off from the crowd still pouring out of the community theater. He’d slip in to Mr. Keating’s right and tell them, and then perhaps somebody would take the lead and tell him what to do, for the love of God. The problems of others, Todd had learned, were too delicate for a fuckup like him to even think of becoming involved in. He was too shy, too big a coward to do anything but muddle everything beyond repair. No, it was best to let someone else, someone older or smarter or braver, take the lead.

But who would do it?

Knox looked like he would leave with Chris, if the warm aura that had hung between them all night was anything to go by. Meeks, Pitts and Cameron would go back with Mr. Keating, and soon, since their English teacher seemed particularly sorry at having been there at all. Nuwanda might go back with them, or he might not. It all depended on the curvy brunette he was chatting up at the moment. And Todd? Well…he didn’t know.

He wished, irrationally, that he could ask Neil to what to do. It was always him picking up on subtleties, noticing quiet moles crying in strategically chosen shadows over desk sets. Neil would have known what to do.

 _Neil also wouldn’t have let you go like that,_ a cruel little voice in his head said _. If he’d thought for a moment that you needed a friend, that you needed_ **_him_ ** _, he would have followed you on foot through the snow and never taken no for an answer. Neil would_ **_never_ ** _abandon you._

Just that past September, Todd would have hung his head and wondered just what a stupid kid like him thought he could do. He’d think of Mr. Perry’s anger-tensed face and be afraid of having it directed at him. He’d slump away, maybe even hide in Mr. Keating’s car, and shake his head any time anyone asked what was wrong.

But it was not September. Todd had since gone into the woods with the Dead Poets, had heard the sound of his own voice bouncing back at him from the classroom walls, had felt all those once-elusive words stop growling at him and lay down, belly up for him to pet and caress– even let him coax them into poems. He was not just Henry Anderson’s brother anymore. A moment later Todd knew the answer.

He hurried forward and clapped a hand to Mr. Keating’s shoulder. “I-I need to follow him.”

Mr. Keating turned around, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes at the ready. “What? Where to, Todd?”

“To the Perry house. Please Captain-“

Mr. Keating’s kind face went loose at the corners from guilt. “I’m afraid we’ve done enough for one night Todd. Neil will be in for a horrible weekend as it is.”

“I know, I know.” And he did know. He could imagine what would happen if he showed up at the Perry house at this hour of night, with the purported instigator of Neil’s rebellion in tow – oh, he was asking for trouble alright. But Todd knew, just _knew_ , that there was something macabre in the air, in that dark shadow swallowing up the theater doors as the place shut down for the night.

He couldn’t have explained why if he tried. Or rather he could, but nobody would believe him: it was that literary device (Chekhov’s something or other) when the author mentioned a particular item, a deadly item, and you knew it’d be crucial to the plot later. Todd couldn’t even point out the item of unease, but he could tell it involved Neil, Mr. Perry’s anger, the long lonely march to their house, and a feeling like cold lake water slowly filling his chest.

“Please Captain,” he repeated, voice softer but more desperate. “Please. I- I’ll confront Mr. Perry if push comes to shove.”

It was that, that Todd of all people would be willing to cause a stir, which made the look of affectionate disapproval in Mr. Keating’s eyes finally give way to a hint of concern.

“Why? Did Neil say anything? Did…”

“It’s just – I have the most terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach…” Every last one of his instincts yearned to unburden himself, and who better than Mr. Keating to just tell him what to do already? But then he opened his mouth “…And I just know I need to go there. I have to. I’ll-I’ll walk to the Perry house if you won’t take me. Or take a cab. Take me to back to Welton and I’ll get out again.” He schooled his face into something that he hoped would communicate resolution, hiding his trembling hands in the pockets of his coat.

Mr. Keating gave him a long, probing stare. Without breaking eye contact, he raised his voice, “Knox,” he said cheerfully, though his face was anything but, “you told me Chris has her own car?”

 

* * *

 

Neil’s house was at the end of a road, beside a dozen other houses just like it, all of them cream and brown, two stories with wide windows, front lawns enclosed by white picket fences. Even with the snow, Todd felt as if he would have known exactly which house was Neil’s as they drove up, even without looking it up in the phone book, from the thick sense of dread that radiated from it like smoke from a newly kindled fire. He clambered out of his seat wordlessly once Mr. Keating’s engine died down, almost spilling out into the night with nerves.

He stood by the open door, gaining his footing and his elusive courage. A half-remembered line insinuated itself into his mind: _There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart—an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime._

“ _The Fall of the House of Usher_ ,” piped up Mr. Keating loudly from within the car, and Todd jumped. “By Edgar Allan Poe.”

“I-I didn’t realize I was actually speaking.” Todd glanced ahead, following the course of a snowflake as it feathered down to the ground. He turned back to the car before it vanished into the whiteness at his feet, “I’ll just talk to him for a moment.”

Mr. Keating nodded once, earnest but confused, and Todd headed up the unshoveled path with long steps, stomping and pulling his feet out of the deeper snowbanks, his heart speeding up with something that was neither effort nor simple nerves.

 

* * *

 

After all was said and done, Neil would still remember only bits and pieces.

He remembered the bite of the snowflakes as he stood before the open window, the press of a bent branch from his crown of brambles poking at his scalp. If the theater crowd had suggested a scene like this, he would have called it too on the nose: winter, nighttime and an abandoned token, real original guys, but though it should have been funny, the thought brought Neil no mirth.

He wouldn’t remember leaving his room, window thrown open to let the snow billow in. He wouldn’t remember getting the key from his father’s nightstand, though it must have been a hell of a feat with how light sleepers both his parents were, with how his father’s vigilant eyes seemed to miss nothing in Neil’s life.

He wouldn’t remember entering the study. He wouldn’t remember if the lower left drawer made a sound when he turned the key in the lock.

He’d only remember, with sterling silver clarity, how the gun’s barrel was cold against his temple, colder than the snow had been, and how quiet the night suddenly felt. His senses had dampened and he’d looked out the window, into the swirling snow, almost as if he could imprint it into his irises –

\- and how an odd dark lump, ink black against the glowing white, had startled him. The lump had vanished behind the edge of the window by the time Neil recognized the halting step.

There was a car-shaped something in the street too, he realized, a car that hadn’t been there when he arrived (it wasn’t blanketed in snow yet, and his father would have raised hell about it). The unexpected images set off memories, the sight of Todd’s back, many times since the first snowfall, wading towards the Indian cave, how Todd held his arms out like a person about to jump from a trampoline at every step. Neil knew his gait, the entire heft of his frame. It had to be him.

The hand holding the gun suddenly felt overheavy. He drew it away from his head slowly, stiff muscles rebelling, until the barrel was trained on the floor. Neil watched as if from a distance, confused and disinterested, as his numb fingers peeled themselves away from the grip one by one.

The gun fell with a loud, dry thump. _Dad will kill me if I wake him up_ , he thought reflexively, and then a moment later nearly laughed at the irony.

It seemed only logical to put the gun away in case Mom ( _haha_ ) or Dad woke up and saw it ( _Haha!_ ). There would be trouble if they did see it ( _HAHA! Oh Neil Perry you’d trump them all at comedies_ ). He didn’t remember the drawer or the key, but after the blink of an eye the gun was gone.

He felt more than heard a distant, tentative knock at the door. If he’d been up in his own room right now, Neil would have never heard it.  ( _If it had come just a few seconds later, if Todd and whoever brought him drove a little slower, I’d never have heard it. Ha-ha_.)

Pause, then another knock, equally hesitant but louder this time. So normal and expected…and perhaps that did it, because Neil woke, as if from a dream, at that. The texture of reality suddenly became rich and varied again, and Neil realized in a flash that he was Neil Perry, once Puck, once student at Welton Academy, standing, shirtless and shivering with cold and the delicate brush of Death’s lips, outside the door of his father’s study. Past the door was a desk, and in the desk a drawer, key still attached, and in the drawer had been a gun that had seemed to suck the heat of life from his hand.

He had to open the door. He had to open the door for Todd, it had to be Todd (or a hallucination of him). He had to do it now because if his father woke up…

…if his father woke up he’d kill Neil and then he’d never be able to do it himself; his father had taken so much, so much already, that Neil would not, could not let him kill him too.

He hurried to the door, a knot of something at the very top of his throat. Neil didn’t know if it was tears, a scream, or rending peals of laughter.

 

* * *

 

Todd had started contemplating the front door, or throwing snowballs at windows (there was a window open on the second floor, and Todd’s blood froze for a second when he saw it) when the back door finally opened.

Neil’s eyes had a strange sheen to them, manic and terrifying. He was shirtless, chest rising and falling a little too fast. The sight of him didn’t bring Todd an ounce of relief: Neil’s eyes, the grim set of his mouth, the way every last thing that made him himself was absent only terrified Todd in a different, more incisive way.

“Todd,” Neil slurred, and Todd would have thought he was drunk if his eyes weren’t so deathly sober, “what…”

“I had to talk to you,” he choked out, shivering from the cold and the nerves. “I…never mind what I thought. I just thought.”

“How’d you…”

“Mr. Keating’s up front with his car. Freezing his ass off, probably.” Todd laughed, more from nerves than humor. “I can’t stay long.”

Neil nodded. “I…I don’t know what to say Todd.” His hand made an elegant motion that clearly meant _elaborate_.

“It’s j—j-just…” Todd thought of the foreboding shadows, the inexplicable terror, the way he’d looked desperate enough to Mr. Keating that he’d sent the others off with Chris and Knox and driven here. He thought of the messages in the wind, of Chekhov’s guns (that was it, the expression that escaped him earlier, Chekhov’s _gun_ ). It all sounded terrifically insane.

But something _did_ come through because Neil’s eyes seemed to focus, softening into compassion at the stuttering that had always been a dead giveaway. Neil and the doorway blurred to smears as tears finally came through, and Todd had never felt more like a coward.

They weren’t great wracking sobs, he didn’t think, or Neil would have shushed him, worried his parents might hear. Instead, Neil hesitated for all of a second before Todd could feel Neil's arms around him and the warm skin of Neil’s chest was pressed hard into his nose as his head bowed into it. Neil’s hands were frozen. Neil’s heart beat too fast. But between a gasp and a fresh wave of tears, Todd realized that it had been the right thing, because comfort and solidarity were the essence of Neil Perry, and nothing seemed to tether him to Earth like this. Neil’s arms tightened: as if he were squeezing a dish sponge, a fresh wave of tears came to Todd’s eyes.

 _It’s like he gets stronger just as I get weaker,_ Todd thought, and that thought of all things was the one that finally calmed him.

 

* * *

 

After a short eternity, Todd drew his face just an inch away from the rapidly cooling skin, still hanging in Neil’s arms like dead weight. “I need to go now.” Mr. Keating might have really frozen solid by now, for all he knew.

“OK.”

“Take care of yourself Neil. Please.” Neil’s muscles tightened, as if he disagreed. “I mean it! Take care. We need you. Don’t let your dad…” Todd didn’t know what he could do, but whatever it was would be bad, “just…don’t let him.”

Nothing. The chest at his eye level contracted in a sigh.

“Please Neil.”

“I can’t…”

“We need you!” Todd demanded, far too loudly. There was a pause, as if the night held its breath, and then a thump from the floor above. He felt Neil’s chin drag across his head sharply, messing up Todd’s hair, as he looked over his shoulder.

“That’ll be Dad,” Neil whispered. For the first time since they’d met, Neil didn’t sound scared at the prospect of his father. He just sounded resigned.

“I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” Neil answered, and it sounded like he meant it. Then, almost to himself, “I’m surprised he only woke up now.”

They let each other go at the same time, Neil fully himself as he took two steps back, rubbed at his exposed chest and let out a _whoo_ , as if the cold had finally touched him.

“Will you be alright, Neil?”

“I - yeah, I’m. I’m OK.” Neil held his face straight for a minute, perhaps two, and suddenly his head bowed, and Todd barreled forward to hug _him_ this time.

Neil wasn’t crying, but he sagged against Todd completely, as if his bones had turned to cloth. Todd would have held him up, would have helped him back up the stairs, would have done anything, _everything_ , but more noise came from above. _“Neil?”_ Over his friend’s shoulder, Todd saw light flood the foot of the stairs, and felt the shape in his arms jolt.

“I may have left a gun on the floor of Dad’s study,” Neil said quickly, pushing Todd away. A gun, he said. Chekhov’s gun, the night and the foreboding and the omens…Todd’s head spun. Something terrible must have shown on his face, because Neil winced, “I think. I just can’t remember if I put it away or dreamed I did…it’s…I thought. It doesn’t matter. I won’t.”

“Swear to me that you won’t.” He knew, and didn’t know (didn’t _want_ to know), what Neil meant.

“I swear Todd, I swear. But I need to get it. Now. If Dad finds it – “

 _“Neil…?”_ A woman’s tentative voice, almost lost in the recesses of the house.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Neil.” His voice was hoarse with new tears. Time was running out, Todd knew, but the horrible tableau-that-might-have-been started to take shape in his mind, and only the thumps and lights going off upstairs stopped him from barreling into Neil and refusing to let go until someone, anyone, promised him Neil wouldn’t just...

Neil was breathless. “I…,” footsteps, long unoiled hinges creaking open quickly. “I promise. I’ll talk to him. I’ll get him to let me go back to Welton. But if he finds you here all bets are off.”

 _Let me go back to Welton?_ Neil’s reassurances only left him with more questions, but Todd knew their time was up. “OK. OK.” He took a few steps back. Neil flashed him a tight smile, a kind he’d never seen on Neil’s face, and he closed the door as gently as he could without leaving it unlocked.

Todd wrenched himself away from the Perry’s’ back door with effort and picked a path back to the car that was slower and much more careful than the one he’d taken on the way over. He kept to the shadows of the neighboring houses and the trees, eyes drifting back to the house every so often. Many lights were on now, the snow falling ever more copiously, muffling everything, but the sense of dread in the pit of his belly had been replaced by good old, ordinary nerves.

He made it back to the car at length, the engine already come to life as when he approached. “Is everything alright, Todd?” Mr. Keating turned to watch him slide back in, “did you see Neil?”

“Yeah, he’s OK.” _He had a gun. He was going to use a gun_. Neil loved his mother and father, even with all the things the latter did to him and the former let others do to him. He did not have a murderous bone in his body. Which meant…

“Did you see his father?”

The real question was _did his father see_ **_you_ **, but Mr. Keating was too polite to phrase it that way. “No,” Todd said in a sigh.

Mr. Keating sighed too, though he seemed relieved. “No chance of a smooth getaway, I’m afraid,” the car, which seemed to be particularly loud to Todd’s ears tonight, labored away from the front of the Perry house so slowly and noisily that Todd half expected to see the front door open, Mr. Perry coming towards them brandishing the…the…

Todd looked away, gazing out the windshield as more snow came at them. He felt deathly tired all of a sudden, all the bravado he’d accrued over years of hiding behind other people spent tonight. And now, with That House vanishing behind a turn of the road and some clarity to go over his words, Todd was sure that he’d messed up. Neil had almost made a serious decision tonight; Todd couldn’t bear to put it into words. He’d stopped, reconsidered for whatever reason, and then Todd turned up. And what had he done, what had he said to keep Neil with them? Cried and begged? Gotten him into shit with his Dad, or almost gotten him anyway? _This_ was why Todd never got involved.

They didn’t speak another word until they were making their way up the winding roads and empty fields towards Welton, darker than the night, large and lonely as a mausoleum.

“What was that literary device, Captain?” Todd heard himself say as the car slowed, “when the setting and the weather reflect the feelings of the protagonist?”

“That’d be pathetic fallacy, Todd.”

Pathetic and failed sounded right.

 

* * *

 

The general mood was pretty subdued (with the exception of Knox, that is, who swung back and forth between being gloomy with them and smiling at inopportune moments over Chris) all that weekend.

“His damn old man probably threatened to take him out of Welton over the thing with the play,” Nuwanda had said, after Todd told them a (slightly edited) version of his visit to the Perry house when Neil didn’t turn up on Saturday. He hadn’t mentioned saying anything, hadn’t mentioned crying, making it look like he’d stood there and listened, which was in retrospect what he should have done.

(He’d almost convinced himself Neil had not been shirtless.)

(He would _never, ever_ mention the gun.)

“Neil said he used to get threatened with military school when he… _rebelled_ as a kid,” added Meeks forlornly.

“But Nolan wouldn’t let him, I mean, Neil’s on a scholarship, the year’s been paid –“

“He can and he will if he fucking wants to, all Mr. Perry has to do is type up a nice letter and never let Neil come back,” Nuwanda said, temper rising, “shut _up_ , Cameron.” Nuwanda’s eyes flicked to Cameron sullenly. While Todd thought Cameron was alright, if a bit too eager to please the teachers (and everyone he thought might be above him really), Nuwanda only barely tolerated him. Without Neil’s moderating presence, and Meeks, Knox and Pitts too forlorn to play pacifiers, it seemed Nuwanda was unwilling to continue the truce. Cameron looked mightily offended, but said nothing.

“M-maybe we could call his house?” Todd offered.

“I tried,” Knox said, “got his Dad. Told me Neil couldn’t come on, said good day, and nearly didn’t let me say goodbye before he hung up on me.”

There was a collective sigh.

 

* * *

 

The tempestuous mood continued, everyone seemingly holding their breaths.

Nothing happened for the rest of Saturday. The day turned out to be perfect, a crisp and snowy one that the younger students seized for snowball fights and making vaguely offensive snowmen inspired by their professors. The Dead Poets Society held no meetings in respect for their compatriot’s absence.

Nothing happened on Sunday. They met in Todd’s (and Neil’s) dorm for a study session as usual, one which quickly developed into a game of poker. Todd had stared at his declensions sightlessly, his face too emotional for card games, grateful for the noise and presence of others nevertheless. That night, he stayed awake very late, wondering how he’d ever sleep with the sheer emptiness of the room pressing into him on all sides.

And then at nine o’clock on Monday morning, Neil walked into the cafeteria unceremoniously, school uniform and gentle smile in place, as if he’d never been gone a day.

“Hey guys.”

They all stared at him, Nuwanda’s face frozen mid-chew, Meeks’ mouth hanging wide open. Todd’s fork slipped from his hand, popping the yolk of his egg and sending the golden contents over his dish in a bright, oily wave.

_“Neil!”_

Todd got to him first, even sitting all the way at the other end of the table as he was. He threw his arms around Neil’s neck and hung on, and then Nuwanda collided with Neil’s other side, shoving at his head, Pitts nearly toppling the three of them while Meeks hovered around the mass of limbs, managing a slap to his shoulder.

“Where’ve you been!?”

_“We thought you were a goner!”_

_“Don’t do these things to us!”_

“I’m sorry, guys, I’m sorry,” Neil said with amusement when he could finally get a word in, “a lot’s been happening.”

“Are you getting pulled out of school?”

_“Cameron!”_

Neil’s smile turned grim. “Well, I actually almost was. Mr. Nolan intervened.” His eyes caught Todd’s for a second, and Todd felt a tightening about his middle before looking down to see Neil’s arm below his armpits. “How’s about I tell you over breakfast though, I’m starving!”

Up close, Todd could see exactly how much Neil’s smile didn’t make it to his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Neil, along with his Dad, had actually been back to the school on Saturday for a meeting with Mr. Nolan, they soon learned.

“I couldn’t go to the dorms, couldn’t pass on a message. I’m lucky Dad didn’t follow me into the bathroom,” Neil shoved a piece of toast into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “He said he was taking me out. Told Nolan that Welton was exposing us to bad influences with people like Mr. Keating on the staff. That theater was where queers were made, that he’d thought there was better discipline than this. He also wanted to know why we had Latin and English, but no Bible Study.”

 _Fucker_ , Todd thought, not feeling guilty for once.

Meeks’ pale face colored in outrage, “and Mr. Nolan just _agreed_?”

“Of course not,” Nuwanda interjected, “Noly wouldn’t just let his prize boy go like that, and Neil wouldn’t be here in his uniform if he weren’t staying.”

Neil nodded, “they argued for _hours_. Dad softened a little when Nolan offered me a full scholarship, then wanted to have me ‘quit’ English as a condition for staying. Nolan said Keating’s the only English teacher, and that the class is a graduation requirement.”

Pitts looked at Neil in confusion. “Didn’t you already have a full ride?”

“Nah, I get half. Meeksie here keeps beating me at Latin,” he said without chagrin, referring to the full scholarship offered every term to the student with the highest overall average.

“Teachers still like you better, though,” Meeks quipped back, shoving a hand into Neil’s hair affectionately and messing it up something fierce. Neil jostled the offending hand away with a smile. It was at times likes those that Todd was reminded that, while Neil got on well with _everyone_ and was a close friend to each of the ones who’d later become the Dead Poets Society, Steven Meeks was his first and best friend. The two musketeers from their first year at boarding school onward, until Charlie Dalton appeared at Welton with a bang, tried to pick on Meeks for being a nerd, then decided Meeks was actually a pretty cool kind of nerd. Once Meeks had swung on him, that is.

Years later, Meeks and Neil still had the particular closeness of boys half their age, at ease with the other’s space and bodies. At the thought, something like nostalgia, only sharper, perhaps more acidic, dragged a finger across Todd’s heart. Surprised, he somehow found the presence of mind to choke out a few words. “S-so you’re staying?”

Todd was rewarded with a flash of joy as Neil’s eyes seemed warm when they caught his. “I am. I’ll have to take on a few things. And Dad’s…not happy. He’ll be all eyes on me now. No more theater…” He deflated.

Silence hung between them for a moment. Then Pitts spoke up. “Does that mean you’re quitting the club too?”

Neil straightened in his seat, face serious. “The Dead Poets Society?” he said in in a whisper. “No, no way. Nolan’s off the scent anyway, thinks Nuwanda saw it in Mr. Keating’s yearbook entry and used it as a cover.” He looked around at all of them, another smile beginning to stretch the corners of his lips, “so, when’s the next meeting, anyway?”

There was a flurry of back-thumps and grunts of approval, and Neil’s smile finally unfurled all the way.

 

* * *

 

“I think I’ll ask to spend break here,” Neil said out of the blue one morning, straightening his shoelaces from his perch on the foot of his bed. “It’s a pretty bad time to be home.”

Winter break was coming soon, and Todd’s parents hadn’t given any indication that they’d want him back then. Henry’d written to him about not being able to make it, so even if Todd decided to deal with the uncertainty and cross the state of Delaware to his paternal home, he knew the holidays would be a pretty dry, sad thing. Plenty of food, plenty of expensive gifts, nobody to share it with.

And he’d feel wrong, leaving Neil alone here. The mere thought took him back to that cold night, to Neil punch drunk and wild-eyed, completely lost to Todd even as he stood right in front of him. No, he’d stay. He’d absolutely, positively stay. Maybe he’d even manage to do something right, and put a little bit of cheer back into Neil.

“I’m staying too,” he said, after letting the silence go on too long and startling Neil when he broke it. “My parents kinda don’t know what to do with me, and Henry’ll be staying with friends in Boston.”

Neil smiled. “I guess it’ll be the two of us then. Meeks, Pitts, and Knox are actually wanted back home, and the Daltons usually take big vacations. I think it’s Spain this year. Nuwanda’ll be thrilled to try some Borges on a few local girls.”

“He knows Spanish?”

“Nope. D’you think that’ll stop him?”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment before Neil guffawed, instantly setting Todd off.

His decision seemed to speed up time. Suddenly, Welton was a flurry of holiday cheer and packing. The school’s founding principles weren’t much for decorations beyond a few wreaths and a Nativity scene with exquisite figurines, but it was as if Christmas took it by storm anyway.

It was aided here and there by Mr. Keating, who seemed just a few skips away from decking himself out in red and white (and of course, someone like him would be filled to the core with Christmas spirit; fitting). But he was on his best behavior, for Neil’s sake as much as his own, and so he went the subtler route, like reading them an 1897 editorial from the _New York Sun_ about a little girl who wanted to know if Santa Claus was real. Todd’s eyes might have watered a little at the end.

Then came the last classes of winter, and Nuwanda released a few paper airplanes when the last Math came to an end. Todd and Neil asked and received their permission to stay over the holidays. They’d groaned when Mr. Keating couldn’t chaperone (he’d mentioned Christmas in England and Neil had ducked, hiding a smile), groaned all the louder when Dr. Hager the Dean was assigned to them instead. After that, it seemed only a couple of days had actually gone by before he and Neil were seeing their fellow Hellton survivors off until January.

“I appoint you two the cerberi of the Indian cave in our absence,” said Nuwanda ceremoniously, laying a palm over his and Neil’s faces like a pastor imparting a blessing. It had always intrigued and amused Todd by turns, how Charlie Dalton laid his mark on everything, lived his jokes so wholeheartedly that he went through and came out the other end of ridiculous into serious. Almost numinous, if the light and the music were right.

“Cerberi?” Neil asked, amused, from beneath Nuwanda’s hand.

“Of course. It’d be ‘cerberus’ if only one of you stayed. So it’s ‘cerberi’ plural, because it’s in Latin.” Nuwanda looked self-satisfied at the logic.

“Really?” Cameron asked, wide-eyed. Behind his back, Meeks snorted, but said nothing. Neil nodded at Meeks and Meeks smiled, while the familiar touch of nostalgia dragged a cautioning fingernail up Todd’s throat.

 

* * *

 

They weren't the only ones staying in Welton over the winter. There were four other guys their age, with the looks of the quiet and studious types who got good grades with titanic effort and two young kids, probably young orphan heirs, that made Todd think of Ebenezer Scrooge's schoolmates from when he was visited by the Spirit of Christmas Past. But the older ones mostly smiled in greeting without engaging, the younger ones hard at work in making themselves invisible, so he and Neil were alone together all the time.

Most of the time it felt like it always had, like Todd couldn’t, didn’t want to hide. They talked of their friends and of their teachers, joked, laughed. They settled in to do their homework for the next semester in companionable silence sometimes, or read their leisure books together in the faintly chilly library, reading aloud to each other when a particular line seemed very, very good or very, very bad. He saw the bruise-colored smudges beneath Neil’s eyes slowly fade away as he slept better, and stopped giving Neil’s side of the room frightened, furtive glances in the middle of the night.

One afternoon, eight days to Christmas, Todd stumbled on the topic of the play as awkwardly as a penguin on particularly slippery ice. He had been leafing through a book of Shakespeare’s plays and chattering at Neil about them, going from Othello to Paris to Hamlet and finally Puck, then looked up guiltily when he saw Neil tense.

But Neil relaxed quickly, a somber smile softening his face and his eyes. "I was good, wasn’t I?”

“You were. You were great.” And he had been. It hadn’t been Neil up there that night, it had been something old enough to laugh at everything, it had been an agent of chaos and joy. He’d thought Neil was untouchable. And then he’d gotten offstage, and his father hadn’t returned his smile, and Neil’s face had fallen before he’d been dragged off, and then…

“It’ll be a while before I can ever get back on a stage. If ever.” And he was right. Welton had no drama club, and Todd would bet anything that Nolan would bodily remove Neil from any drama club that did start now.

Being in a drama club would also annul Neil’s deal with his father. It would mean Neil could (and probably would) be pulled out of school, and that was unthinkable.

Silence descended over them. They hadn’t talked about That Night, not even now that they’d been alone and free to do so: it was an unspoken agreement between them, that none of the others would know. And now, as both of them seemed to be mulling over the same things in the sudden hush, now that it seemed that the time to talk had arrived, Todd was terrified. "Hey...s-so...that night..."

“I was wondering when you’d ask, y’know?” Neil said, voice small.

“I…”

“Listen, can it not be here? I mean…I’d like to talk about it. Kinda owe you, Todd,” he managed a short, bitter kind of laugh, “but let’s not do it here, OK? Let’s head up to the Indian Cave one of these days. And then we can talk.”

“Tomorrow?”

“OK. Tomorrow, if the day’s clear. We’ll never shake Hager off if the weather’s bad.”

 

* * *

 

They slipped away after lunch, when Hager seized the chance for a nap and the day, clear but bitterly cold, ensured nobody would follow. It was odd, to make their way to the Indian Cave in full daylight. Odder still to hear just another set of crunching steps, almost lonely.

The cave seemed quiet when they finally reached it, as if it were hibernating right alongside the forest animals and the trees. Nuwanda’s cerberi remark came back to Todd then, and while he knew it had just been a joke, it seemed fitting right now. He would have felt strange and disrespectful, coming here with only just one Dead Poet at half past noon, if he hadn’t imagined he was the cave’s warden, doing his duty. _Or maybe we’re more like priests_ , he thought, glancing at the God of the Cave. _Like in the Temple of Vesta in Ancient Rome, keeping the fires burning forever_.

Neil walked around the small formation of charred logs to his usual place. “Feels weird, without the others.”

“A little. But it’s supposed to feel weird, right? The cave’s asleep. It’ll wake up when we return.” As usual, the words had made a lot more sense in Todd’s head. But Neil smiled anyway, as if he’d said something articulate.

Todd took his own place, leaving a Meeks sized space between himself and Neil as they sat in silence for a moment. He’d started to wonder if Neil had fallen asleep, or worse, that it was too soon and he’d frozen up on him, unwilling to speak, when a throat cleared.

“We got home that night. Mom was waiting for us in the office. Dad said he wasn’t going to let me ruin my life, and that he was going to enroll me in Braden Military School.”

The name didn’t ring a bell, and Todd wondered, shivering, if it was out of state. “What did you say?”

“I felt so angry, so…so cheated. All these words were welling up inside me. I shot up out of the chair, told him I needed to tell him how I felt…”

“And?”

“And…nothing,” Neil deflated, as if the word had punctured him. “I said nothing. Literally, he asked again and I said, “nothing”. I just went upstairs.”

Todd licked his chapped lips. What Neil had told him so far was what they’d all known, in broad strokes, for a long time. That next part was the one he’d been afraid to ask about, the one that ended with them crying and comforting each other over the Perrys’ backdoor threshold, neither of them very sure just what they’d just narrowly averted. “And then?”

“Then…then, well…” Neil drew his legs up defensively, holding them close with both arms, “I’m not sure. It all felt like a dream, or a nightmare. Mom had laid out my robe, my towel, my shaving stuff on the bed. I was supposed to take a bath before bed and just get up and play the dutiful son and go spend ten years of my life doing something that didn’t make me feel alive inside and I just…” Neil’s neck bent forward, forehead touching his updrawn knees.

“Felt like you just couldn’t?”

“Yeah, that was it. Then I was dreaming, or drunk, and I went to Dad’s nightstand for the keys to his office. Then I was in there, opening the bottom left drawer, and the gun was so cold…” Neil looked away, towards the mouth of the cave, and a great, slow tremor wound its way down his body.

Todd’s mouth went dry. “Oh, Neil…” He scrambled sideways, slotting himself into the tiny space between Neil’s side and a pile of loose rock. He threw an arm around Neil's shoulders. He wasn’t sure who he was comforting, if it was his friend or himself, but the contact felt welcome.

“I was going to.” He said it sadly, resignedly. “I wasn’t scared anymore, just tired. So tired. So trapped. I thought I would be relieved…but I was just sad. Very sad. To think all you have left is to kill yourself is…very sad,” Neil looked back then, hesitating for a long, charged minute until his eyes found the very center of Todd’s, “and then I saw you.” And he smiled.

“Me?”

“I saw a lump that walked like you coming across the front lawn. There was a car up front…it was strange, it shook me up a bit. And then the gun was gone, and I’d woken up, and there were knocks at the door. I would have thought I was dreaming the whole time if I hadn’t been outside my Dad’s office when I did wake up.”

Warmth, Christmas and joy seemed very far away to Todd as he felt it: Death, like the train of a bride’s dress, walking so close he thought he felt its cloth whisper over their school shoes. Todd had known this, even if he’d always stopped short of putting it into words. It came as no surprise to finally ascertain that Neil had meant to kill himself that night, driven to an unexpected edge of despair at having his life’s dream ripped from him. But to know it for certain still wrapped it into another layer of horror.

“I’m sorry,” Todd whispered, afraid that speaking louder would shake something else loose. Probably tears. “If I’d known…I wanted to help. I’m so sorry.”

Neil turned his entire body towards him then. “Are you kidding? You _saved_ me, Todd.” He clapped a hand to Todd’s shoulder, then clasped it and pulled, turning him so they were face to face again. “Don’t you remember?”

“I…I actually don’t.” Todd wasn’t being entirely truthful, because he did remember. It was just that he had no idea what he could have possibly done right.

Neil chuckled. “I do. You wouldn’t leave. You wanted me to promise to take care of myself. And you managed to make me promise I’d try to get Dad to let me stay in school. I…well, all that time, you talked like you knew. Like you saw it, or smelled it on me. And you made me swear that I wouldn’t kill myself.”

“I-I didn’t know for sure. But you said something about a gun.”

“You were right.” Neil smiled again, a smile that just managed to hold back his tears, “and seeing you there that night? I just…I remembered I wasn’t alone. And the more I thought it, the more it looked like I could do something. That I wasn’t trapped, like I thought. Like I felt.”

“You’re not trapped, Neil.” And as he said it, Todd believed it. Twelfth grade seemed far away, but it had an end. School, Neil’s dependence on his parents, it all had an end, a way out. Death didn’t.

“You know, I had a conversation about that with Mr. Keating. He kept telling me I wasn’t trapped. That I should try talking to my Dad. And I did tell him about the play, but I never told him how it made me feel. After you came that night, I tried again, and it didn’t change his mind about my acting,” and a few tears did escape Neil’s eyes then, quickly dashed away by his hand, “but it got him to understand there were things I wasn’t about to let go so easy.”

Neil smiled, and even with his nose red from suppressed tears, Todd wondered if he’d ever seen a brighter, gentler smile, or a kinder pair of eyes. _Like a fever, longing still_ , said the half-hearted voice of something in the silence of his mind, and Todd gasped.

“Something wrong?” Neil’s face softened, and Todd marveled at how expressive it was, then marveled at how odd that marvel felt. Soft and bright, run through with the quiet nostalgia he felt every time Neil inadvertently reminded Todd that there were many secret things he would not share.

“N-no, just cold.”

 

* * *

 

That night, Todd lay in bed for a long time, listening to Neil’s even breathing to ensure he was fast asleep. He’d gather his nerve, slide a foot out from beneath the blankets, and then imagine a sound or a too-loud breath that sent him huddling back beneath them in a defensive little ball.

It was in one of the Shakespeare books, the line he’d read. It absolutely was in one of the Shakespeare books, probably the one with the brown leather binding, a sonnet, and he needed to read the rest of it, but if Neil saw…

…if Neil saw, he’d probably laugh and say Todd was turning into Edgar Allan Poe rather than Walt Whitman, tell him not to stay up too late and turn around, falling promptly back to sleep without a single question.

That one sobering thought carried him out from under the blankets and to the desk on his side of the room, the flashlight he took out into the woods with him clutched in one hand. He didn’t bother with the chair, which made a pretty loud scraping sound when moved, standing beside the table instead, turning one book and then the other over until he found the right one.

The bookmark was still inside, on the right page. As soon as he read the first word, the rest of the poem came to mind, and Todd almost dropped the flashlight in surprise.

 _“My love is as a fever, longing still_  
_For that which longer nurseth the disease,_  
_Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,  
_ _Th’ uncertain appetite to please.”_

It went on. Todd, however, had read enough.

He wasn’t surprised, he realized. Even though he’d never imagined it, never thought of it once, after the reveal he felt as though he’d always known. It was Chekhov’s gun all over again, the night that Neil might have died when the shadows and the cold spoke to him, to warn him. _Maybe I got foreshadowing too_ , Todd mused, wondering if the quiet in his mind was him taking things with courage, or just the onset of madness. His getting assigned to Neil's dorm, to the bed beside his, how it was always Neil who coaxed and prodded and found him when he hid. Maybe their flying desk set was a metaphor. Or some well placed symbolism.

Or maybe there was no text, no script, and he wasn't surprised because he had known it in his heart all along.

_I’m in love. I’m in love with Neil Perry._

The thought didn't scare him or shock him. But it did make him feel very, very sad.

 

* * *

 

Todd thought for a long time that night. He thought until gray-blue light filtered through the window and the temperature dropped even lower in anticipation of the morning.

From some distant part of his mind, he dredged up the memory of his friend Michael Gentile’s older brother Frederick. They’d been children, hardly six, when Frederick had enlisted and left, but Todd had met him once, by chance: he and Mike had wandered into the Gentile’s tiny kitchen to find Fred at the battered dinner table, all slicked back hair and bright smile, so blindingly handsome in his uniform that Todd wondered if he might be a hero from the comic books. He’d had such a gentle voice and treated both boys as if they mattered, something Henry’s friends (and their parents, and uncles, and the friends of Father’s from the bank who came over for drinks sometimes) didn’t much care for, so that by the end of the visit Todd had wanted fiercely to be Fred’s best friend. He didn’t want to take him from Mike, or even exchange Henry for Fred; oh no, all he wanted was to follow Fred around on his adventures. A man like that, and a soldier besides, would have the most fantastic adventures.

That night, Todd dreamed of flying a plane, Fred at the front with a gleaming white scarf flowing in the wind, Todd at the back. Todd would point out the bad guys so Fred could shoot them out of the sky, and once they landed he’d thrown an arm around Todd and told him they’d never have managed without Todd’s help.

The Andersons had moved to Delaware a little after news of Frederick’s death on the frontlines came around. Nobody had understood Todd’s grief: his mother had called him “delicate” and taken him to the doctor while Henry had let Todd hide in his room, sympathetic but unable to really wrap his head around crying for “someone’s brother you only saw once, and for five minutes Toddy!” All Todd could answer his brother was that Fred had been kind and that he felt it, right down the middle of his heart, and that he could have helped, he could have.

“If only I’d asked Fred to take me along, nothing would have happened!” Todd had exclaimed between bouts of crying, and the guilt had lanced his heart right alongside the grief.

Todd’s father had said nothing at all, tight-lipped and distant, but he’d called Todd a “fag” once, in harsh whispers overheard from his parents’ room one night when little Todd had wandered past it to the kitchen for a glass of water. Todd assumed his heart had healed, in time, because he’d thought of the Gentiles very little over the following years.

He remembered elementary school more clearly. He’d never cared for the few stolen glances at dirty magazines or girls - not that there were any in that private school either, but there was talk all the same, of kisses and breasts and long hair. Todd had a few friends there, knew a few boys. He’d been wary of the locker room then, just like he was his first weeks at Welton. He had blushed a little and looked away the first time Edward from football walked out of the showers in the nude because he’d left his towel on the other side of the room.  

Some of the boys had been nice to look at, Todd admitted, but they’d all been too cruel, too harsh for any admiration to take root. His first real crush had been the young, brilliant math teacher, Mr. Thayer, in fifth grade. He hadn’t been a handsome soldier like Fred Gentile. Mr. Thayer had been gentler, kinder, the type of person who looked like he’d never picked up a gun in his life. Not out of cowardice, as the adults who looked at Mr. Thayer with distaste suggested, but from sheer goodness. Once or twice, Todd had seen a group of teachers stand and leave if Mr. Thayer joined the table, and a sharp jab of sadness, followed by a sense of kinship, had drowned his heart.

Todd had never really thought it a crush at the time, though. It was very different to the way older boys crushed on girls: he’d been too nervous and admired the man too much to ever entertain the possibility of Mr. Thayer even holding his hand.

Todd had had thoughts about other boys as he’d grown, of course, thoughts that made his blood hot the way scantily clad prints of women never did. They were secret things reserved to his room and his imagination, stolen hours in the dead of night. This part of him wasn’t new, but instead so close and familiar he often forgot about it, like the Todd-colored smudge at the edge of his field of vision that was his nose. It didn’t make him sad.

But loving Neil? Noble, brilliant Neil Perry? He might as well have fallen in love with Marlon Brando. Even if Neil liked boys too, he’d never glance twice at a pale mushroom of a boy like him.

And the hardest part, the one that made Todd take a bit of blanket between his teeth and wince as pain lanced his heart, hard, was that Neil _did_ love him. It was a kinder affection than the one Henry Anderson bestowed on his younger brother, but it was still the love of a great man for a lesser one. Miles and miles from Neil’s easy, highly physical closeness with Meeks –

_Oh. So that’s what it is? I’ve been jealous of how Meeks is close to Neil, to boot?_

Todd sighed around his mouthful of blankets. It wasn’t as if Neil liked guys anyway, so he and Meeks both were out of luck. And, if by some dubious miracle Neil liked boys _and_ happened to glance Todd’s way? Now there’s where the real tragedy would happen, because there’d be the whole world to worry about. It had been easy to forget there was an outside world, with miles of road and snow keeping Welton apart from the rest of civilization, but it was there, and it wasn’t kind to people like Todd. Never mind getting treated like a leper and a pervert: he’d heard people like him got arrested. Committed to sanatoriums for life, even.

And that was just the vague fears, the ones he didn’t know of well enough to worry about properly. There were tangible things to be afraid of, far closer to home: there was Todd's father, who’d called him a fag once already, who’d disown him without batting an eye, and then there was Mr. Perry. Oh, he’d shoot them, Todd knew. He’d shoot them both dead before letting Neil live out his life as a fairy. It was just as well that Neil didn’t love him back.

By dawn, Todd had made tentative peace with the idea. He could love Neil quietly through all the years they had left of school (because really, there was nobody better than Neil anywhere). They’d be friends, thick as thieves ‘till they graduated and left, and then Todd would go on to be a banker like his father and his life would be over. Neil would make salutatorian, perhaps find it in him to oppose his father and become an actor, perhaps not, but he’d likely meet a beautiful girl and get married. And maybe, just maybe, in between the endless sun-filled summer of his life, he’d remember to send his old schoolfriend Todd-the-spinster-banker a postcard or two.

Todd sighed again. He ought to be disgusted with himself. He ought to be down at the chapel on his knees, asking God to lead him not into temptation. Perhaps he’d think about it differently in the daytime, when the real world hovered in close. But here in the safety of his bed, Todd could admit to himself that he _wasn’t_ disgusted. Loving Neil Perry had given him the guts to do a lot of things, the way fear of his father, fear of failure, fear of life in general never had: if loving Neil Perry made him a better person, how could it be wrong?

 

* * *

 

In the days leading up to Christmas, Todd’s routine didn’t change much. He and Neil studied and talked and laughed and ate together, just like before, and while Todd sometimes felt his tongue trip over itself when Neil drew him closer to tell a joke or a funny aside, it seemed like nobody noticed (and Neil least of all). He hadn’t stuttered at Neil yet, and he hoped against hope that he wouldn’t.

Todd stole down to town one afternoon when the snowfall wasn’t too thick and finally bought the hefty tome of Walt Whitman’s _Leaves of Grass_ , the one at the used book store he’d been agonizing over since November. He left it in its brown wrapping paper, keenly aware of his limited wrapping abilities, and kept it in a dark corner beneath his bed, safe in the vaguely dusty gloom.

(So what if Walt Whitman might have been a fag too? It wasn’t like Todd meant something by it. The guy wrote awesome poems, and that was it.)

He gave everyone the slip on the evening of the 24th to head to the library – as alright as things had been going, the idea of giving Neil a gift the following day had festered in his mind like an open sore, throwing Todd back and forth between thinking that giving Neil the book was a brilliant idea and telling himself that he could still go buy a nice scarf or a fountain pen if he started running now. It made his nerves brittle and his tongue extra clumsy, so that by lunch Todd was sure he’d stutter at Neil and confess to everything, up to and including the Crucifixion and the fall of the Roman Empire, if he didn’t find a quiet place to hide.

The library’s forest of tall shelves, free from students and even the librarian, proved to be the perfect sanctuary, the last place anyone would look for him. Well…the last place _almost_ anyone would think to look for him, and so he was careful to avoid the Literature shelves, curling up in the floor of the Philosophy aisle with Plato’s _Symposium_ instead, where he stayed until the light got too weak.

It had been a suggestion of Mr. McAllister’s in class, something Greek and not Latin, a reference Todd would have dismissed if their Latin teacher hadn’t called it “the kind of thing Keating might like.” That had meant everything.

It was a bit of a relief, to see these upstanding citizens of Athens speak of love between man and man just as calmly as they referenced love between men and women. He read with reverence the retelling of the myth of Apollo dividing almighty beings into men and women – there were male-male soulmates, according to the Greeks! By the time he was done with that part, his nose tingled, just a little, though that could be the dust and dry smell of old books in this corner of the library. He even laughed a little, though he was pretty sure it wasn’t meant as a comedic moment, at Alcibiades drunkenly looking for Socrates. Alcibiades seemed torn apart by a desperate kind of love.

_“…and I am conscious that if I did not shut my ears against him, and fly as from the voice of the siren, my fate would be like that of others,-he would transfix me, and I should grow old sitting at his feet. For he makes me confess that I ought not to live as I do, neglecting the wants of my own soul, and busying myself with the concerns of the Athenians; therefore I hold my ears and tear myself away from him.”_

Todd laughed a little more at Alcibiades, though a bit less cruelly now. Poor drunk idiot. Oh, well…at least he could say he loved a man while drunk at a party without having anyone beat him up.

 

* * *

 

Christmas was very nearly a rousing success.

Neil woke him with much poking, early in the morning, just so he could sit on his bed with many a bounce and wish him a Merry Christmas.

“Six AM?” Todd asked indignantly, once he’d reached for the alarm clock on their shared nightstand, “really Neil?” He had been torn between annoyance and abject adoration, furious and pleased to be the sole focus of his friend’s attention at such an obscene hour.

“Yes, really,” Neil had replied with a smile, and laughed raucously when Todd tried to swipe at him with a pillow.

There were festive greetings over breakfast, a snowball fight before lunch. Then the older boys had had to warm the modest Christmas dinner, what with the cooks and Dr. Hager enjoying a half day of freedom, but the ham had kept alright. One of the older boys managed to get into the cooking sherry; Todd, wanting to be daring, accepted a cup and promptly choked on what tasted like someone’s grandmother’s perfume. Neil passed, but his eyes crinkled at Todd once the coughing fit was over, fond instead of mocking

But the night’s highlight came about half an hour later, when Todd took advantage of Neil leaving for the bathroom to scramble under his bed for the wrapped book beneath it. He contemplated hiding it under Neil’s pillow, or leaving it on the bed and running for his life, even chucking it out the window while he still had the chance, but then the door of the dorm room opened and Neil’s return made the decision for him. He sat like a deer in the headlights as his friend reentered the room, the brown package so conspicuous that Todd felt a blush start to color his cheeks.

Neil pointed at the package beside him curiously. “What’s that?”

“I…gotyouapresent,” Todd said quickly, before his tongue got heavy and the stuttering began. He smiled. “Merry Christmas, Neil.”

Neil’s eyes went very bright, and the joy seem to spill over into his entire being. It was like his entire face smiled. “Really?”

“Really.” Todd hefted the package, holding it out to Neil with just the slightest tremor in his hands. “Open it. And t-tell me if you don’t like it, OK? I might have a chance to get it changed.” Damn, there went the stuttering.

Neil ripped into the brown paper with uncharacteristic force, then extricated the book carefully, a look of awe on his face. “Wow…”

“You did keep calling me Walt Whitman. And that one’s good. I mean, Captain said Whitman kept editing it over and over, up until he died, so there’s a ton of other editions, but I think this one is the last from before he actually died –“

“It’s _perfect_.”

“It is?”

“Yes.” And it seemed like it was, because Neil brushed a thumb across the cover reverently, then carefully flipped it open as Todd watched, eyes flicking over the page he’d opened at random. He looked up at Todd with a smile at length.“ I’ll treasure this.” Then his eyes crinkled in humor. “If I’m thrifty enough, this is my turn at reading nights solved from now ‘till twelfth grade.”

“Oh no! Don’t do that!” Todd replied in laughter, “We’ll have to make up a rule about using new authors or something. You know how Nuwanda hates it when we have to make up new rules!”

“Don’t tell him to, and we’re done!” When the laughter died down, Neil shot Todd a warm look and, rather uncharacteristically, ducked his head. “Damn…well, now I feel a little bad. My gift’s pretty stupid by comparison.”

“Don’t be stupid Neil. I’ll like whatever you got me.” Todd was shocked that Neil had gotten him anything at all.

Neil’s smile didn’t slip, but his fair skin colored at the cheeks. “See, that’s the problem…I’ve told you my family’s not terrifically rich. I didn’t get much of an allowance, and after the play…”

“I know. It’s OK.” And really, it was. Todd, who’d sorely craved affection, had been given pricey, meaningless gifts in its stead his entire life. One cheap, thoughtful gift from Neil Perry of all people would be more than OK. “You didn’t even have to buy me a single thing.”

“Well good, ‘cause I didn’t.”

“OK, that’s fine then.”

But it didn’t seem to be fine. Neil set the large book beside him on the bed and folded his hands into his lap, blushing even darker. “See…see, I actually _made_ you something. Kind of.” Neil gazed at his folded hands. “I’m just really worried you’ll think it’s really stupid.”

Now, Todd was intrigued. “Well, show me. I promise I’ll like it.” And then, when Neil looked like he wouldn’t budge, “I swear. Dead Poet’s honor.”

That finally seemed to sway Neil, who raised his head to study Todd’s expression before shooting to his feet, ripping the topmost blanket off his bed as he went. He walked toward the desk and turned his back on Todd. “OK, give me a moment.” Then Neil sank his chin into his chest and relaxed his entire torso, blanket hung precariously over one shoulder. There were a few second of silence, and then Neil turned.

Todd gasped. Neil’s entire posture was different when he faced him again: he held his back straighter than he usually did, and he stepped closer to Todd with a slow, heavy step, eyes fixed on the room’s single window. _Regal_ , Todd thought. Then Neil caught the blanket off his shoulder in one hand, and Todd expected him to draw it over his shoulders elegantly like Fred Astaire's mid-dance routine. But Neil unfolded the blanket to its full length meticulously and then folded himself inside with a sigh of relief, like an old man might. He looked down at his stocking feet for a moment before looking out the window, letting a disbelieving smile slip onto his face, then letting it become less tentative, fonder. He released one hand from the blanket and addressed his invisible companion, caressing an invisible cheek with tenderness:

 _My Ariel, chick,_  
_That is thy charge: then to the elements_  
_Be free, and fare thou well!_

The he turned towards Todd. _“Please you, draw near.”_ He drew himself up again, clutching the blanket, a dignified man perhaps just a little past his prime:

 _Now my charms are all o'erthrown,_  
_And what strength I have's mine own,  
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,_

The kinglike stranger let himself laugh, a swift bark of humor, then fixed Todd with a firm stare.

 _I must be here confined by you,_  
_Or sent to Naples. Let me not,_  
_Since I have my dukedom got_  
_And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell_  
_In this bare island by your spell;_  
_But release me from my bands_  
_With the help of your good hands:_

He raised an open hand, as if to reach for Todd, but caught it back at the last moment, closing it into a fist.

 _Gentle breath of yours my sails_  
_Must fill, or else my project fails,_  
_Which was to please. Now I want_  
_Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,_  
_And my ending is despair,_  
_Unless I be relieved by prayer,_  
_Which pierces so that it assaults_  
_Mercy itself and frees all faults._  
_As you from crimes would pardon'd be,  
Let your indulgence set me free._

Neil ducked his head in momentary humility before raising his head in defiance, as if holding some invisible judge’s eyes far above Todd’s head. Then something seemed to go out of him, and he was Neil Perry again. “ _The Tempest_ , epilogue,” he announced, head still down.

Todd licked his lips. “When-when did you practice?”

“Early in the mornings. And when you kept disappearing.”

“That-that was…” Todd knew he was stuttering, knew it couldn’t be put down to simple awe or delight, but he didn’t care. And then he started clapping. “That was incredible Neil! I loved it!”

Neil bowed comically low, still clutching his blanket. “Thank you. Did you really?”

“It’s incredible how you just transform like that. No costume, no makeup…”

“Heh,” Neil took off the blanket and swung it over his shoulder again, going to sit beside Todd. “Acting is all about connecting with an audience and conveying emotions. If you need a bunch of pricey paints and a makeup artist to do it right, you’re not very good. Remember when the Captain read to us from _Twelfth Night_?”

They’d laughed uproariously, Todd remembered, and Mr. Keating had limited himself to doing a few voices and faces from his seat. “Well, you were…you were great. You were a noble, asking for forgiveness?”

“You haven’t read _The Tempest_?”

“…no,” Todd hung his head.

“Oh no! I don’t mean it bad!” and Neil put a hand on Todd’s shoulder. “I’m just curious about what you think, without the play to spoil you.”

“OK, well,” Todd began, feeling a little foolish, “you were a nobleman. An older man. You were setting someone, a slave I think, free, and then asking for forgiveness for a few bad things you’d done. You were ashamed, but you were brave, casting yourself to someone else’s mercy.”

Neil nodded. “Yeah. Prospero was the duke of Milan, exiled to an island with his daughter. He manages to get revenge on the people who wronged him, everyone apologizes, and he gives up his magic at the end. Or, well, that’s as much as I can tell you without spoiling the play. Oh, and thanks for clapping, because that’s what’s supposed to set Prospero free.”

“See? You nailed it.” Todd was suddenly, keenly aware of Neil’s intense gaze on him, and looked down at his feet. “You were really good.”

“Thanks. Really. But I wasn’t just showing off for you, you know. I chose that bit because it makes me think of you.”

Todd looked up at that. “It does?”

“Yeah,” and Neil nodded, driving the point home with enthusiasm, “I was looking through Shakespeare’s plays, the comedies, because I wanted everything to be right in the end for a change. And when I found _The Tempest_ , I knew it was right, because it kept making me think of you.”

“Me?” Well, now _he_ felt a little bad. Neil had gone and studied for him, while all Todd had done was hand money over at a cash register. But the moment passed, and he felt glad, unutterably so, glad and loved and warmed by the gift like a new bicycle or a fine cashmere sweater never had.

“Yeah, you, I mean it.” Neil moved to lean his entire arm on Todd’s shoulder as if it were a table and his heart leaped joyfully at the easy familiarity. It was just the kind of thing he’d have done to Meeks. “I thought of you every time Ariel (that’s one of Prospero’s servant-spirits) came on. And with Prince Ferdinand too, but Ariel is just…” he shoved Todd gently. “You both don’t care much for the spotlight, even though you’ve got all these mighty powers. You just wait for someone worthy to come and tell you how to wield them, but in the end the enormity of what you can do shocks everyone.”

Todd’s tongue froze to the roof of his mouth. He didn’t believe a single word from Neil, but it moved him, and deeply, that Neil thought that about him. He unstuck his tongue somehow, trying to conceal the adoration that must be all over his face. “That’s…well, actually one of the kindest things anyone has said to me.”

“It was nothing.” The smile slipped from Neil’s face. “I didn’t feel like I could pull off Ariel, even if I had months to try. Nah…I felt too much like Prospero, keeping you trapped running errands for me just because I couldn’t get over not being royalty anymore.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Todd. For that night.”

And the monologue took an entire new meaning. Todd’ sat up straighter: Neil was apologizing, he was thanking him. And…mercy, prayers…“You don’t want to kill yourself anymore.” It wasn’t a question.

“I haven’t wanted to in a while. Not since you went over to the house that night and told me you all need me,” Neil confessed, looking intently at his own feet. “But you’ve been a hell of a friend ever since. You didn’t tell on me with the guys. And you’ve been here for me, every waking second. With anybody else it would have felt like…I don’t know, like being spied on. You’re just…here. I know I can call you when I need you and you’ll be there, even when I can’t see you. Like Ariel and Prospero. It made me want to, to try and…live.” And Neil reached up to swipe at what seemed to be a few errant tears. Wordlessly, Todd brought his face around, laying his chin on Neil’s shoulder in silent comfort.

“See what I mean?” Neil said, softly. “Nuwanda’d tell me not to be a little girl, just to make me laugh. I’d never cry in front of Pittsie. He’d get uncomfortable. Or Cameron, he’s got a mean streak I really don’t want to egg on. Maybe Knox or Meeks. But they’d both start hovering over me like a pair of grandmas. You? You’re…’my brave spirit’, I guess.” And he smiled, almost shyly.

Todd had thought to just lean there for a moment, basking in the closeness and the camaraderie. In the joy of Neil being there to stay, which was the real Christmas gift as far as he was concerned. He’d thought it would be enough. But there was snow at the window, falling in calm little flakes, and it was warm in the space between him and Neil. He turned to look at Neil, who nodded and blinked at him, open and friendly: that was when it all went terribly, horribly wrong.

Before he’d had a moment to think, really think, about what he was doing, Todd had edged forward just a little and kissed Neil, a quick press of lips, his own mouth a little off center. It wasn’t lust and it wasn’t a taking: Todd had wanted Neil to know just how loved he was, and a moment’s madness had told him that a kiss was what it’d take.

Neil's eyes followed Todd’s face as it retracted, and all at once, Todd knew he’d made a terrible, terrible mistake. He got up, throwing Neil off balance with his madly windmilling his arms, and edged backwards until the dorm’s door was against the back of his head.

“Oh no. No, no, no…” he gasped, terror suffusing his stomach. “Oh N-Neil. I’m s-so, so sorry.”

“Todd-“

He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear Neil calmly tell him that he was sick, or that they were just friends, or that he was probably just tired and got lost in the heat of the moment, as if that would somehow explain the kiss away. That he had a girlfriend tucked away somewhere, or that he loved Meeks, or anything, anything at all. “No, n-n-no. This never happened a-a-and I’m s-sorry, and I have to, I have to –“ Todd turned, wrenching the door open and running full tilt down the pitch black hallways. Daisy, the Golden Retriever who helped patrol the school’s halls at night, made an almighty racket as he darted past her, but there was nobody in Welton to enforce curfew, and Todd kept running unimpeded through her loud barks.

When Todd came to his senses, he’d somehow made it to the library. It was too dark to make out the spines of the books, let alone read, and the aging carpet did little to ward off the cold, but the tall shelves seemed to embrace Todd in their shadow like kindly trees. He curled up in the dark, cheek to the rough bristles of the carpet, and let himself sob until he thought he could cry no more.

 

* * *

 

The bitter cold chased him back to their dorm room in the small hours of morning. Todd half expected to find the door locked and his things piled outside, but the hallway was clear, and the door opened quietly at the slightest turn of the knob.

He didn’t bother with pajamas, convinced that Neil would wake up and think Todd was about to assault him or something, contenting himself with taking off his socks. He slid under his covers, sore, chilled from the library floor and tired like he’d never been before. He pulled the blankets up to his chin and hoped that the sun would somehow not rise that day.

Then, what felt like a split second later, there was too much light in the room, and someone was shaking him awake. Todd groaned, wrenching the blankets over his head against the light and sound.

“Todd, hey, it’s lunchtime. Do you really want to miss lunch too?”

Todd nodded, even though it probably looked like nothing at all with his bedding piled on his head.

“C’mon, you can’t just not eat, can you?”

Todd would have curled up and closed his eyes then, lunch be damned, but then it occurred to him that it was Neil’s voice trying to coax him out, and the resulting wave of icy terror chased away every last dreg of sleep.

A hand was feeling the lump he’d created beneath the covers, poking gently at his arm. “Did you fall asleep again?”

“…no.” Well shit, couldn’t he be a rebel and lie for once in his life?

“Then come on out. Please Todd, talk to me. I won’t hurt you. I promise.” And Neil’s voice was doing that thing, that gentle coaxing thing that always got Todd to agree. His hands were pulling the blankets down almost before Todd realized he’d made the choice.

Neil’s face appeared, smiling. “Hey. You gave me a real scare last night. I thought you might have run off into the snow.”

“Not that stupid,” Todd answered, blanket over his nose.

“I didn’t mean…” Neil sighed and shifted. The smile never left his lips, but Todd wondered if he’d ever seen him quite that nervous. “I’m just glad you didn’t. So? Lunch?”

“Not hungry.”

“Are you sure? I could make up a tray…”

“I’m OK.”

Neil looked defeated. Todd was sure that, had it been anything else keeping him in his bed, Neil would have pulled all the stops before letting him mope. But it wasn’t just anything, and while he was grateful to Neil for not swinging on him, Todd really didn’t feel up to putting up an act for the day.

Neil got up hesitantly. “Guess I’m going?”

“OK,” answered Todd lamely. He half wondered if he was about to say something monumentally stupid like “eat well”, just to fill the tense silence, when Neil walked towards the door, eyes still on Todd, and finally managed to walk out of the room.

 

* * *

 

It took three more days, but Todd made it out of bed, and by their staid New Year’s celebration it was as if nothing had ever happened.

He felt like a child playing hooky, or feigning a fever, but he stayed in bed resolutely when Neil was in the room, wandering around to his desk only when he was alone. Once or twice, the sound of Neil’s footsteps sent him scrambling back under the covers, blushing beet purple with shame as he did, but Todd played the role of convalescent idiot with a passion nevertheless.

And Neil, blessed, sainted Neil, seemed to understand. It was acting after all, Todd thought, and Neil knew all about acting. He didn’t try to get Todd out of bed after the first day, but he brought apples, glasses of water, pieces of toast wrapped up in his handkerchief all three of those days, asking Todd how he was feeling and if he was warm enough. Dr. Hager didn’t come up to check on him, and Todd was sure Neil had made his excuses.

When Todd emerged on the 29th, the older student who’d gotten into the cooking sherry asked how his virus was going over breakfast, and Todd said he was a lot better, thank you, only his appetite wasn’t all back yet.

“You should still try to eat though,” said Neil from behind them both, Todd jolting out of his seat in surprise.

“I’ll try,” answered Todd, looking away from his eyes.

Neil sat down on the unoccupied seat on Todd’s other side calmly as you please, meeting Todd’s eyes defiantly. “Please do. Can’t force-feed you in front of all these witnesses, not with how much you drool,” he said, and when Todd smiled it wasn’t even that forced.

And, like magic, he and Neil were inseparable again, talking about everything and anything. They made the trek to the Indian Cave on the morning of the 31st, to read “a ritual last poem of the year” to the God of the Cave and check up on things, and being alone together didn’t feel awkward at all. They even read from Neil’s new book, acknowledged it as a Christmas gift, and Todd didn’t stutter once when he did.

(They didn’t talk about the kiss, not even in passing, and when Neil struck a pose unwittingly or smiled just a little too brightly, Todd’s tongue didn’t get stuck. He only got very, very sad.)

On the first minute of the New Year, over Auld Lang Syne pouring out of the staticky radio, Todd and Neil hugged tightly, clapping each other on the back like soldiers. Todd had time to revel in how good it felt to hug and be hugged like that, equals in celebration and not an elder comforting his junior, and decided it wouldn’t be so bad to be Neil’s brother. A little sad perhaps, but not bad, not really.

Then it was suddenly January, and one bright morning their door was thrown open and a pale bronze Nuwanda charged in, screaming _hola gilipollas_ and pretending to tackle Neil as an unamused Meeks stuck his head through the door. “Hey guys. Miss us?”

Todd smiled and realized he really had. “Fun break?”

“A little dull,” said Meeks, pretending he couldn’t hear Nuwanda yelling in Spanish behind them. “How about you?”

“It was OK. I’m glad to see you all back, though.” And really, Todd was. He smiled at Meeks, who smiled back before letting himself in, and Todd felt like he could bury the brief impression of Neil’s winter chapped lips for good.

 

* * *

 

“Hey Anderson. You been better?”

Todd turned, half over the threshold of their Latin class, to see Cooking Sherry Thief smiling at his back.

“Ah- yeah. Yeah, thanks.”

The boy nodded, green eyes not leaving Todd’s. “We haven’t really properly met. I’m Daniel Wilder.”

“Hey.” Todd walked into the classroom, unblocking the door. “You stayed over for winter break.”

Daniel smiled, a wicked twisting of his lips as if he were about to announce a successfully executed prank. “I did.”

Todd wanted to ask if Daniel had been in his same Latin hour all these past months, because Todd honestly could not place him, but it seemed really rude. Daniel seemed content to look at Todd, smiling still, until Mr. McAllister bustled through the door and sent the students dashing for their desks. Daniel took a desk three seats in front and one to the left of Todd, where he greeted a friend cheerfully, then glanced back, flashing another Puck-like smile when he caught Todd looking.

 

* * *

 

At first, Todd had thought Daniel was being nice – they’d shared the winter, after all, even if they’d managed to say less than ten words to each other over three weeks. But he kept talking to Todd before and after Latin, smiling across the room at him on the days Todd was already seated when he appeared.

Next, Todd wondered if he wanted something. From his expensive DW monogrammed fountain pen, Todd concluded it couldn’t be money, and as Todd was painfully average at every subject but English, it couldn’t be homework help. Todd later thought he might want into their study group (which did boast the presence of Neil and Meeks after all) and began to prepare a polite refusal, but the question never came. It seemed Daniel was content to slip in and out of Todd’s daily routine, chattering occasionally about class or school lunches or the weather.

One chilly Friday, as the period’s bell rang, Daniel hung back until Todd had gathered his things. “Hey. So a few of us are heading down to town on Saturday. Watching a film maybe. You’d come?”

The invitation was delivered with such straightforward ease that Todd didn’t find it weird at all. He would have said yes, but the first Dead Poet’s meeting of the new year was on Saturday, and he couldn’t ask Daniel how late they were planning on staying out without sounding like either one hell of a party pooper or someone with something to hide. “Can’t. Study group. But thank you, really.” Daniel blinked at him, and Todd wondered if was just him, or if his easy smile had begun to look a little fixed. “What’s on at the movies?”

“Toby Tyler’s the name of the film.” He sighed. “See you around, Anderson.”

“Todd,” he corrected. Anderson is what everyone called his brother Henry, even his friends and schoolmates. Only the teachers called Todd that.

“Todd,” said Daniel, as if testing the name. “I guess I’ll see you around.” And his smile returned full-fledged.

 

* * *

 

“So what’s this I hear about Daniel Wilder sniffing around our youngest brother?” intoned Nuwanda grandly from behind a cloud of pipe smoke.

Pitts swiveled around. “Daniel Wilder? The guy who nearly blew up a toilet?”

“That’ll be him alright,” said Meeks with a put-upon groan. “I’m guessing Todd’s our youngest brother? Is he picking a fight with you, Todd?”

“Well, no.” Four months ago, Todd would have left it at that. But these boys really were his brothers, after a fashion, and Todd didn’t really want to keep secrets from them, “but I can’t figure out what he wants either. He just says hello a lot, talks to me about the weather.”

“Kid’s a menace,” interjected Cameron, tone heavy with disapproval.

“For talking about the weather?”

“No Pittsie,” intervened Neil, who’d been very quiet so far. When he noticed Todd’s enquiring look, he sighed. “Wilder’s not a bully. But he does have a pretty nasty streak in him from time to time. He stole some sodium from the chemistry lab a year or two ago, said he was going to lure Nolan inside and make the entire third floor bathroom explode.”

“Sodium reacts with water. Makes a big boom,” added Meeks helpfully at the two or three blank looks.

Todd stared. Cameron guffawed. “I can’t believe he didn’t get expelled. Dad’s a politician or something. Alternate to some congressman, I think.”

“Not that he would have blown the entire bathroom with the sodium he did manage to steal,” clarified Meeks, “but if he’d gotten Nolan into the right stall and dropped it in…”

Even Nuwanda nodded. “Old Noly’s a prick, but that’s a damn stupid thing to do.”

 _Cruel_ , Todd agreed in his mind.

Neil cleared his throat carefully. “So? He’s not looking for trouble, is he?”

“No. I thought he wanted to ask to join our study group, but all he’s asked so far is for me to go to town with him and his friends.”

A confused silence followed. “You sure he’s not buttering you up before he asks? That’s what I’d do,” asked Nuwanda thoughtfully.

“No, I’m sure.”

“Hope he goes on his way soon,” Neil said quietly.

It was a wildly out of character thing for Neil to say. Meeks gawked at Neil, Pitts said “eh?” and Nuwanda’s eyes flicked, once, towards where Cameron was sitting with just the slightest hint of a sneer.

“He’s not a nice guy, is all I’m saying,” Neil said in a gentle tone. “By all means, be his friend, just…don’t let him get you into trouble.” Then someone suppressed a giggle and Neil smiled ruefully, “trouble you don’t want to be in at any rate. OK?”

“OK.” Todd resolved to just accept Daniel’s next invitation to wherever, and get it all over with.

 

* * *

 

The invitation came the following week – no film this time, just a walk and a smoke.

“I don’t smoke,” cautioned Todd.

“That’s OK, I’ll smoke for both of us.”

But he didn’t. They biked down to town and ate burgers, walked and talked around the square, and only when the sun started to go down did Daniel finally pull out a box of cigarettes, which he even remembered not to offer Todd.

Todd followed a slim line of clouds above their heads. “You can ask me, you know,” he said, uncharacteristically brave.

Daniel took a deep, smoky breath. “About what?”

“I just…it feels like you want to ask me something. Am I wrong? I’m sorry if I am.”

Daniel smiled around the cigarette. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“OK so…what is it?” Todd went over the words in his mind, just in case Nuwanda was right. _Sorry, it’s already really loud with just the six of us, we sometimes don’t even get any studying done, really, you’re better trying Beckett and Lee, there’s just four people there._

And then Daniel turned away to exhale all the smoke, switching the cigarette to his right hand, before leaning close and pressing nicotine-scented lips to Todd.

Todd stood, stock still, as the rather agile lips moved over his. He was too surprised to move, even to close his eyes, and all he could see was a close-up of Daniel Wilder’s forehead, bronze-brown hair nearly on Todd’s nose.

He drew away, smiling his wicked smile, and looked to the ground. “I get this feeling this is where you tell me I’m nice and all, but you don’t swing this way. Or maybe break my nose.”

Todd blinked.

Daniel’s eyebrows drew together. “No? Are you –“and his smile turned brighter, “wait, then what’s the problem?” He was genuinely confused. “Was it the smoke?”

“Uh…no.”

Daniel continued to look puzzled for a moment before his forehead went smooth. “Oh. I get it.” He ducked his head. “Perry, huh?”

And that finally broke Todd out of his stupor. He looked down at the asphalt, hands going to his pockets. “No, Neil’s not…not an homosexual,” he informed Daniel’s shoes somberly.

“Oh,” went Daniel again, and there was a little bit of pity in his voice. “Hey, Todd. Look at me.”

Todd raised his head.

“I think you’re keen, Todd. Really, I do. It’s not your fault Perry doesn’t like guys.” He rubbed at his nose in a nervous gesture incongruous with Daniel’s usually self-assured person. “Anyone can see how cool you are. I wouldn’t have asked you out if I didn’t like you.”

“Thanks.”

“So...you like Perry, Perry doesn’t like you. And you don’t like me.” Daniel smiled ruefully, “don’t you dare tell me I’m wrong, you.”

“Sorry.”

“S’OK.”

“It’s OK on my side too. I didn’t know there was anyone else like me at Welton.” And while he hoped Daniel wouldn’t kiss him again, Todd felt a strong swell of kinship towards him right then.

“Oh there’s a few more than just us two, here and there. A few in denial. I’ll bet they’ll burst before graduation though, Welton’s the kind of place where every one of us does, sooner or later.” Daniel took a drag of his cigarette. “It’s cool if you still want to hang some other time. Kissing’s optional.”

Todd laughed out loud at that.

They pedaled back to Welton well before curfew and parted at the door, since Daniel’s dorm room was all the way on the other side of the building. He gave Todd’s shoulder a parting squeeze and walked off without a word.

Todd’s head was full. There were more homosexuals at Welton? It was weird, maybe unfortunate, that they’d ended up here of all places. Could any of them be one of the Dead Poets? It seemed unlikely. Still, it made Todd feel just a fraction less lonely, knowing that there were more people like him hiding out here. And yet, who were they? Had he passed any of them unknowingly in the halls? He toyed with the idea of keeping an eye out in the locker rooms, see if anyone else was averting their eyes from the parade of naked bodies like crazy.

His head was so full, Todd didn’t realize Neil was being oddly quiet that night until the silence got to him, nearly a quarter of an hour after he’d gotten back.

“Is everything OK, Neil?” he asked, concerned.

Neil pulled his nose out of a history book with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, all clear. I’m just really distracted.” A few seconds ticked by. “So how were things?”

“They were good, we just ate some burgers and took a long walk.”

“Just the two of you?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. Then, impulsively, “Daniel’s like me. I mean, he likes…well, you understand.” It was the first time they’d mentioned the Christmas kiss even obliquely, and Todd felt himself blush very, very badly. “I-I didn’t know, before, just today.”

Neil blinked very quickly, and something like a shadow settled over his face. “I didn’t…know either.”

Slowly, Todd’s chest began to unwind, and a hundred words he’d never thought he’d be able to piece together came tumbling out. “I know he’s all…too big for his boots and things, and he smokes like a house on fire, but he knows what it’s like to be…yeah…and it feels so good, so _good_ to have someone who doesn’t hate you for it-”

The shadow over Neil’s face vanished in a second, replaced with concern. “Todd, wait. D’you mean…did you think I, or the guys, were going to hate your for liking boys?”

“Yes,” he answered, breathlessly.

“Where’d you ever get _that_ idea?”

“From how people like me get arrested, Neil.”

Neil sighed, rising from the bed and going to sit at its edge. He breathed hard a few times, hunching over as if he were going to be sick. His shoulders shook, and suddenly Neil dissolved into raucous laughter. He got off the bed and went to Todd’s side, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “Never. OK? Not ever. You’re our brother, Todd. The guys are OK with it. Charlie, Meeks, Pitts and Knox. I don’t know about Cameron, but if he has a problem? Well, screw him. You don’t have to tell him. And if you do, and he flips a lid, I’m personally kicking him out of the Dead Poets Society.”

Todd gazed at Neil in disbelief. But the more he stared, the more he realized it wasn’t a joke. From some deep, silent part of him, a hot bubble of something rose, all the way up his throat, and for what felt like the billionth time in their friendship, Todd started to cry in front of Neil. But Neil simply drew in closer, shoulder to Todd’s face, and let him cry it out.

“It’s OK buddy…it’s OK.”

“I just- I’ve been hiding so long-“

“You don’t have to, with us. We’re your friends,” Neil soothed, “we’ll protect you. Nothing bad’ll happen.”

“Really?”

“Well, Nuwanda likes to make jokes sometimes, and Pittsie can get uncomfortable talking about it because his Dad is really, really uptight about that. Pittsie’s older brother…he graduated college a couple of years ago. Word got back to his Dad about him living in Boston with another man. Pitts Senior called Gregory as soon as he heard, told him not to bother showing up for Thanksgiving. Or ever again.”

“Poor Pitts!” Todd said shrilly, throat loose from tears.

“I know. Pittsie really misses him, but they threatened to turn him out of the house if he tried contacting Greg. Gets quiet when the topic comes up. But he’ll beat the tar out of anyone who gives you a hard time for it.”

“Thank you. Thank you.” _I love you Neil. I love you_ , he whispered into the silence of his mind. He thought momentarily of a world where he’d been assigned to some other dorm room, some other floor, and the thought of his life without the Dead Poets, without Neil Perry, turned his stomach into knots.

“It’s OK. Just keep a low profile, particularly here at school. It’s grounds for immediate expulsion, without appeal.”

Todd let out a particularly loud sob, and Neil’s hand went to his hair. Todd cried for a long, long time.

It was much later that Todd realized he hadn’t asked why the topic of homosexuals got bandied about between their friends, or why they bothered with the school rules about it. It was even later when he realized he’d never told Neil that he and Daniel weren’t…together. But that seemed a tiny moment of forgetfulness, one that likely only mattered to Todd, and so he resolved to clear things up at some point, if the topic ever came up.

 

* * *

 

Daniel hung around Todd more than ever before as spring slowly warmed the grounds of Welton. While he did let loose a few harsh comments from time to time, Todd felt he did it more for the shock value of it than any real meanness. They partnered on a Latin project. Together, they built Daniel a galea – out of a bucket, broken spoon handle, and a brush with red bristles – for Daniel to wear while he shouted Todd’s carefully pieced dialogue at the students like they were his legion. It was a rousing success, so much that even Mr. McAllister cracked a smile despite its unorthodoxy.

“I think this might be the first time I get full marks in Latin,” Daniel said as they cleared out of the classroom later.

“I can believe that, your suggestions for the script were terrible,” quipped Todd back, and laughed as Daniel swiped at him.

They went down to the lunch room, where Daniel made to go to the corner where his sidekicks usually ate. Todd grabbed his elbow. “You can sit with us sometimes, you know? The guys are really cool.”

“I’m pretty sure Richard Cameron wants me hung, drawn and quartered.”

“Cameron’s all bark,” Todd insisted, “and anyway, the others are really…” he cast around for the fashionable words Daniel sometimes used, “peachy keen.”

Daniel snorted.

“Don’t you laugh at me, Wilder! And I’m serious. We’d love to have you.”

“Thanks Todd. I’ll think about it.” And he turned away, looking back half way across the lunch room to send Todd one of his wicked smiles.

Cameron sniffed as Todd sat in his usual chair at the head. “He ask you to blow up Mr. Nolan’s office yet?”

“Cut it out, Cameron,” Neil sad with a warning tone. But Neil didn’t smile tolerantly at Todd afterwards, like he usually did, hunched over his bowl of vegetable soup listlessly instead.

“What’s the matter?”

Neil just shook his head at the soup bowl.

 

* * *

 

Neil’s bad mood persisted. It was hard to pin down at first, since Neil was very, very good at putting his frowns away whenever he knew he was under scrutiny, but once he’d given himself away, Todd knew precisely where to look.

He was cheerful and engaged as ever with his schoolwork and their secret club. He performed a spectacular reading of a few stanzas of Walt Whitman’s _Song of Myself_ in English class that had even Mr. Keating awed, and repeated it for the Dead Poets later with great gusto. But sometimes, when Todd was with Daniel and his and Neil’s eyes met, a shadow seemed to flit across Neil’s face in the seconds before he gave Todd an encouraging smile or a nod of greeting.

He asked. The others noticed Todd asking and asked too. But Neil continued firm in his denial, retreating into odd, sullen silences when he thought nobody was looking. Todd kept an eye on him, heart in his throat, terrified that Neil’s sadness would hit a turnpike and descend into the bleak, emotionless pit that had led him to a gun in a locked cabinet a few short months before.

 

* * *

 

It all came to a head about a month before school let out, a week before the first round of final examinations, as the sun let loose over Welton with abandon, heralding the arrival of summer.

Todd, who’s old private school hadn’t had the academic demands of Welton, watched in mingled awe and horror at the way exam season swept through the student body. Stomach ailments skyrocketed, chapel visits increased by the hundreds, and there was suddenly no room anywhere in the library to study. Tempers ran high, and it became par for the course to see minor scuffles break out over the strangest things, like when Tom Beckett gave Rick Lee a perfect ring of a shiner over a disagreement about the dates of the French and Indian War (Beckett was right, as it turned out.)

“It’s your first year here,” Meeks tried, reassuringly, “you’ll be immune to exam psychosis by autumn, mark my words.” Then he went back to correcting Todd’s Geometry problems as if they were plain old 2-2, and Todd quietly thanked every last twist of room assignment logic that had led him to Steven Meeks.

(It was the same one that had led Neil to him. Maybe Todd did have a guardian angel after all.)

The Dead Poets weren’t immune to minor forms of the psychosis, of course. Cameron’s nail biting habit flourished, Neil drummed tabletops, and Knox liked to pace as he studied when the pressure became overwhelming. Nuwanda smoked just a little bit more recklessly than he did throughout the school year, Todd developed insomnia, and poor Pitts, who was convinced he was going to fail Latin this time for sure, spent an entire weekend emptying the contents of his stomach in the first floor bathroom. Even Meeks, who knew he’d pass all his classes even if he turned up and slept through every exam, would occasionally have vivid nightmares of failing everything and get up, be it three or four in the morning, to look over his meticulous notes for reassurance.

And Daniel drank.

“What?”

“I don’t plan to drink all the way to exams and beyond, I’d like to clarify,” Daniel clarified. “And I’ve actually never done it before. But, two days before the first test, when I know I won’t be able to cram anything else in, I’m going to go get a few beers.”

“Have you ever been drunk?

“No. But it seems a good moment to try. Wanna come?”

“You’re underage,” Todd pointed out.

“I’ll manage. Cooking sherry, whatever my guys rustle up from the community college guys, _anything_ ,” And then, again, “wanna come?”

“I’ll think about it.”

By the date of the Great Alcohol Purge, Todd had been having two to four hours’ sleep in the night, and he’d begun to feel as if a very persistent ant were crawling up his forehead at odd moments during the day. So, with the outing with Daniel on one hand and insanity on the other, Todd left a particularly quiet Neil going over declensions in their dorm room. It’d only be a little, after all.

 

* * *

 

A long time later, Todd returned to Welton, or Welton returned to him. He wasn’t all that sure from how the world tilted to one side abruptly. Daniel’s hands were there to right it – or right him, whichever it was – and Todd giggled.

“Lightweight,” Daniel said, and laughed a little himself. With one arm around Todd he maneuvered the many steps of the school’s front door, pulling Todd this way and that to keep the floor beneath his feet.

“I-I’m pretty bad at this, yeah. And I thought I-I only stuttered when I was nervous. Wow.”

“Apparently, you don’t.”

“Hah.” Todd said heavily on…well, the floor, it seemed, because his butt kept going lower and lower without purchase until he hit the linoleum. “I love Neil.”

“I figured, Todd. Now hush, someone might hear you.”

“Sorry I didn’t like you.”

“It’s alright. And _hush_ , OK?”

“OK, I’ll hush.” He sat, helpless, before realizing something, “I don’t know where I live. I mean, the dorm.”

So Daniel sighed and hauled him to his feet again, then carefully maneuvered him up and down hallways and stairs. Once or twice he got shoved into shadows when a teacher appeared, which was scary because there might be expulsion and Todd didn’t want to never come home for Thanksgiving like Gregory Pitts. Or never see Neil again.

“You won’t be expelled from…Thanksgiving or whatever it was you said, Todd. Now please, _please_ be quiet. We’re almost there.”

Well how was he supposed to keep his thoughts quiet?

“I don’t know. Never mind…we’re here.” Daniel pushed at the darkness, which opened into a lit room, and suddenly Neil was in the middle of the bright rectangle with a look of mingled rage and horror.

“What’s going – what is that _smell_?”

“Neil!” Todd exclaimed, happy to see him.

“ _Will you shhhh!?_ ” said Daniel roughly from Todd’s side. “Ah...the smell might be wine coolers. Or beer. Sorry, Perry. Your boyfriend has no head for liquor, it seems.” And for once, Daniel sounded really, truly sorry.

“My boyfriend…?”

Daniel threw him an odd look. “Didn’t you know? He said you did.”

Neil’s face scrunched up in confusion “But I thought…”

The confused look was funny and endearing, Neil was there, and Todd felt like he hadn’t seen him in years. “Neil, I love you!” Todd exclaimed. He was happy, absurdly happy to see Neil again, and the words had no trouble reaching his mouth today.

Neil stared, and Daniel sighed again. “See? Listen, I know you’re like his brother or something, but he’s had a tough few weeks. Cut him some slack.”

“But…I thought you were together,” Neil said hesitantly.

“Nooooo. I just forgot to tell you,” Todd replied, watching Neil and the room sway from side to side.

“Again, see?” Daniel fussed at his hair nervously. “I’d deal with him myself, but I’ve got minutes to get to my room and get rid of these clothes before the curfew room check. And he keeps asking for you, _loudly_. It’s got to be you, Perry.”

“We don’t have room check.”

“We do, when we’re on thin ice with the school board for behavior. Good night. See you around, Todd.” And Daniel left, closing the door roughly behind him.

Todd wove towards his bed, which seemed to charge at him, because a moment later he was sprawling over it. He scrambled for purchase with his arms, one leg on the ground, before flipping onto his back. His stomach didn’t like that very much. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Neil’s head bobbed into view. “Todd?”

“Neil!” He wasn’t as loud this time, he didn’t think. But he was still very happy to see him. “I’m really happy to see you.”

“Me too, buddy.” Neil vanished for a second, but Todd found him again soon enough, sitting on the edge of his bed. “I am so, so sorry Todd. For everything.”

“What for? You’re awesome! You gave me a play and a whole bunch of friends, and you don’t care that I’m a fag.”

Neil snorted with laughter, incredulous. “What’ve you been drinking?”

“I don’t know. It tasted awful. But the more I drank, the less awful it got.”

Neil laughed again. Then his hand was at the top of Todd’s head, scratching gently. “Hey…remember Christmas?”

Todd did. Sadness welled up in his chest. “I don’t want to.”

“Aw, come on, it’s nothing bad, I promise.”

“Promise?”

“Dead Poet’s honor.”

Todd sighed. “Yeah. I remember. You gave me a play. A really good one. You said I was Ariel and then I kissed you and ruined everything.”

“Nothing was ruined Todd.”

“You like girls and you’ll get married someday.”

Neil was quiet for a long time. Todd would have thought he’d left or fallen asleep if it weren’t for the hand at his head. And then, “No, I won’t.”

“Won’t what?”

“It’s…I might be a fag too.”

It went very, very quiet in Todd’s mind. Then he sat up abruptly, against the protestations of his stomach. “What?”

“I like guys.”

“Guys and girls?”

“Nope. Just guys. Didn’t you notice that day when Nuwanda brought those two girls round to the meeting?”

Todd did remember. “Pittsie and Meeks were drooling, Cameron looked all shell-shocked and Knox was kinda amused, but he had Chris, and you…you just laughed and didn’t care.”

“Heh. You did notice.”

But a sudden, terrible thing occurred to Todd. “Do you love Meeks?”

“I – what?”

“Do you love Meeks?” Todd insisted. This was serious. “You’re always touching him and telling each other things. Do you love Meeks?”

“I love Meeks as a brother, Todd. And you noticed yourself that he likes girls,” Neil pointed out, patient as ever. “I’d be out of luck if I did love him.”

“So, who is it?”

The hand at Todd’s head stopped, only the fingers moving now. “You, Todd,” came Neil’s voice, soft and sweet. “I love you.”

“Are you lying so I won’t cry?” Which was a failed endeavor, because tears were already pooling at the corners of Todd’s eyes.

“No, of course not. I just wasn’t sure for the longest time if _you_ loved _me_.”

Todd became indignant. “I do love you! I came to find you the night of the play and I planned your Christmas gift f-for weeks and weeks and I kissed you!”

“I know, I know…but I…well, I was worried you were doing all that because you were sorry for me. Or because I was the only person who’d been kind to you for such a long time. I didn’t want to be that guy you chose because there was nobody else.”

“But there isn’t anybody else! You’re perfect Neil.” And he was. Neil was kind and clever and brave. None of the other fags at Welton, in the entire state of Delaware, no, the _world_ , could possibly hold a candle to Neil Perry.

Neil sighed. “I wasn’t brave. I should have said something after Christmas. But I was scared. I thought you regretted it. And then I thought you were with Daniel Wilder, and I figured I’d just try and be happy for you.”

A stray thought occurred to Todd then. “Is it you that Knox and Pitts and everyone talk about?”

“Huh? Oh, yes. Meeksie was the first person I ever told. He always keeps an eye out - he’s the one who found out about Welton’s “indiscretions” rule. Next, I told Knox. Nuwanda found me out on his own when I didn’t care for his pin-up girls. I told Pittsie after his brother happened. And…I wouldn’t be surprised if Nuwanda knew I liked you. But I didn’t tell anyone, and afterwards it kind of became our secret, mine and yours, so…I thought you’d appreciate choosing when to tell them.”

Todd laid back down on his bed, gingerly, careful of his upset stomach and his soaring, exultant heart. It was so hot now that he felt like his blanket was actually a thin beach towel laid over blistering sand, but inside he felt as if Christmas had come around again.

“You love me? For real?”

“For real, Todd. Ever since we were out at the payphone when Knox called Chris. I knew.”

Neil had had his arm over his shoulders, Todd remembered, not Meeks’. His heart gave a little shudder that moved him, all the way from his chest to his stomach – and then there was bile in his mouth. “I’m going to be sick now, really.” And he jerked off the bed, trying to at least keep his bedclothes clean.

But Neil was faster, reaching for the battered tin wastebasket and getting it under Todd’s chin just when things seemed about to get ugly. He petted Todd’s hair when he was done, and didn’t recoil even a fraction when Todd, ill from all the heaving, leaned his sweaty forehead against his knee.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Neil whispered, in the gentlest voice Todd had ever heard him use. “I’ve got you.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, when he opened his eyes to the pounding, blistering reality of his first hangover, Todd was momentarily terrified that he’d dreamed it all. Then something beside him stirred and “humph”-ed as Neil sat up, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes.

“Still alive, Todd?”

“No. I’m dead, or dying. I never want to hear about drinking again.” And he covered his eyes against the too-bright sunlight.

Neil snickered. “Come on, you alcoholic. Let’s get you to the bathroom, a cold shower might help.”

“No…please Neil, not yet!” Todd laid his head back down, throwing an arm over his eyes.

And Neil had sighed, easing back down beside him. Then there was pressure at the side of Todd’s neck, and then Neil’s wiry arm had eased beneath it. It was a little like a bolster pillow, and it felt a little better.

“That OK?”

“Yeah, it’s OK.” And through the headache and the remnants of a terrible nausea, Todd felt a great wave of joy at realizing that yesterday had been wonderfully real.

 

* * *

 

The next day, though still queasy of bright lights and desperately thirsty, Todd made it to his Geometry exam on his own two feet.

Nuwanda had laughed, and Knox had winced in sympathy. Cameron had been pompous about it, Pitts had thought it terrifically amusing, and Meeks had looked for a second too long at the steadying arm Todd had thrown across Neil’s waist and turned away with a hint of a smile.

And Neil had squeezed Todd’s wrist firmly for a second before they broke apart, because Neil’s first test was Latin, but he still walked Todd to the door of his own exam and left him with a warm look.

Todd felt as if he were flying.

Of course, that didn’t change anything, not really. The happy glow in his chest didn’t fix Neil’s father, or Todd’s, or the planet at large. It didn’t make the world more tolerant or kinder or safer. It didn’t even cure him of the worry of having to come forward to the rest of the Dead Poets about this, sooner rather than later – they’d tolerated one lonely fag, but two fags, together? The jury was out, as far as Todd was concerned.

But this, being together, might just have given them both the courage to take on all those battles one at a time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Yuletide, [kirani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirani)!
> 
> Your prompt was short, sweet, and to the point: _"Anything Todd POV! I love him!"_. It just so happens that I love Todd too. And when I rewatched the movie to figure out what to do with him, I noticed something I hadn't: that Todd was the only one who could save Neil. And that was how this 18K+ adventure was born.
> 
> Write what you know, they say, and ever since I watched the movie when I was 18 (nearly 10 years ago this month!) I've wanted to save Neil. I never knew how to do it, or who should do it, but I wanted to save him. When I noticed how Todd and Neil kept sharing small moments of understanding, and that Neil kept 'rescuing' Todd, I felt like Todd, if given the chance, could perhaps rescue Neil too. I decided to give them that chance and see where it took me. Quite unexpectedly they wound up falling in love!
> 
> I parsed through your fics and your bookmarks after that, to make sure the unexpected turns would be to your liking. You do indeed like a few M/M pairings, and one of your bookmarks implies you also like poetry, so I hope you enjoyed these two as they danced through theater and literature.
> 
> I also hope you'll forgive the brief lapse into Neil's POV (which I felt we needed!) and particularly my divergence from canon. Neil's suicide lends a great deal of gravitas to the film. It also makes us viewers ask ourselves hard, necessary questions, and of course leads to the moving "O Captain! My Captain!" scene. But as I got into the story, it quickly became apparent that Todd, as he wrote himself here, very much wanted Neil alive. I just couldn't say no :)
> 
> Thank you for this golden opportunity. I loved Todd before, but now, after he's helped save Neil, I love him twice as much.


End file.
